


Burn

by kiwi_promenades



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, Bridgerton AU, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Established Dreamnotfound, Eventual Sexual Content, Explicit Sexual Content, Falling In Love, Fluff, Getting Together, M/M, Miscommunication, Misunderstandings, Mutual Pining, Nerds in Love, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Pining, Prince Technoblade (Video Blogging RPF), Requited Unrequited Love, Slow Burn, Unrequited Love, endgame dreamnoblade, eventual dreamnoblade, eventual skephalo - Freeform, no beta we die like men, no historical accuracy whatsoever, you dont have to watch bridgerton to understand
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-14
Updated: 2021-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-22 16:27:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30041481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kiwi_promenades/pseuds/kiwi_promenades
Summary: "Don't get angry!" Dream said incredulously."I am notangry," Techno snarled back."Well you certainly look like it," Dream snapped. "Look at you, you're all red!""Yes, because that's what someone looks like when they're - ""When they're angry?" Dream interrupted."It's what they look like when theyburnfor someone who doesn't feel the same way!" Technoblade whirled around, and the light of the fireplace danced across his flushed cheeks and long lashes, creating galaxies upon his fair skin while pink strands of hair kissed his jaw. He looked absolutely radiant, and Dream was breathless, his heart stuttering and his eyes fluttering at the utter beauty before him."You... burn for me?" Dream whispered.
Relationships: Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream/Technoblade (Video Blogging RPF), Skeppy/Badboyhalo, Zak Ahmed/Darryl Noveschosch
Comments: 6
Kudos: 158





	Burn

**Author's Note:**

> historical accuracy has been shot to hell, so dont count on any of this being even remotely correct

_Dearest reader,_

_Today is a day every ambitious Mama and reluctant Papa have been anticipating since their children first cried into the world. All of the golden houses and silver-spooned carriages are ravished with bustling servants and anxious young lords and ladies, for it is finally the day that anyone of age is presented to His Majesty, the King._

_The marriage market of the Esempi has always been a battleground of prowling lions and raging wolves, but this season, the ton will have with it a fire-breathing dragon that will attract as much as scare anyone who looks its way._

_The Crown Prince of the Antarctic Empire has always been praised for his battle prowess and swordsmanship, and yet he will personally be gracing our presence and joining the fierce race that our ton is known for. Instead of a sword in his hand, he will instead be holding the delicate wrists of love and scandal, something even the powerful Prince has yet to experience._

_May the gods have mercy on his soul._

_It is always known, dear reader, that the simpering ladies and the charming men bless the streets and marriage market of the Esempi like flower petals in spring, and yet the cold countenance and withdrawn nature of His Highness may be impervious even to the most beautiful of men or most handsome of women._

_And yet the clawed hands of desperate Mamas will regardless sink nails of poisonous affection and praising venom into his arms in the offhanded, smallest chance of ever getting his eyes to look at their children for more than just a passing second._

_Will it be the charming Marquess Dream, who is finally being entered into the market, who captures the eyes and hand of the Prince? Will it be the lovely Duchess Nihachu, whose first season had been delayed? Will it even be the woeful Viscount Badboyhalo, whose wardrobe only consists of the somber colors one might expect at a funeral?_

_We can only hope that the dragon will not burn us to ashes in our attempts, and may this year be the most sordid season of the ton yet._

_Yours truly,_

_The Earl Greyson_

* * *

The summers in the lands of Esempi were always hot, but that day it was especially so. It was probably because of the fact that Dream was trying to look like he wasn’t running late even though he horribly was, and his tousled hair and askew collar didn’t help him look any more refined as his shoes tapped stone in impatient clacks. 

He was inexcusably late, and as much as his mother loved him, he also knew that she was probably waiting for him with a disappointed face. It wasn’t even his fault that he’d been halfway across town when he was reminded of the date. Well, sort of, but to be fair, his lover had a trivially easy time distracting him. 

Dream almost smiled at the thought of George, but that smile melted away when the golden tips of their home began to appear in his sight. He slowed down his steps and tried to smile winningly when several servants, all rushing to get carriages ready and half looking ready to start crying from stress, wrinkled their noses at him or shook their heads. 

He tried not to feel overly guilty when he opened the door and was immediately met with a flurry of movement and voices climbing over each other, though the loudest one was easily recognized as his own mother’s distress. 

“Tubbo!” Lady Puffy cried out. She was standing on top of the stairs that overlooked the entrance hall and her hair looked disastrous as she glared at her youngest son. He was sitting at the bottom of the stairs, looking rather put out by the yell. “Where on earth is your brother? Doesn’t he know how important today is?” 

“He doesn’t tell me everything, you know,” Tubbo sighed. “And I don’t blame him for running away, this whole thing is a load of - “ 

“I didn’t run away, thanks,” Dream interrupted, and Tubbo had the decency to look slightly sheepish when Dream approached him and pinched his nose with half-malice. “You look cleaned up for once, good for you. At least people won’t mistake me for having a rat for a brother." 

" _You're_ the one who looks like a rat," Tubbo said. 

"Dream," Puffy thundered, and Tubbo had the gall to stifle a giggle behind his hand while Dream grimaced and slowly straightened up. He tried to smile at his mother, but it was definitely more of a wince when she raked her glaring eyes over his less than presentable appearance. "Will you spare your poor mother the heart attack and tell me where the _hell_ you've been all morning? You look as if someone dragged you across the street and then threw you off a cliff into the winds!" 

"Mother, I'm sorry," Dream tried to say, but Puffy was already shaking her head and making her curls look even more frizzled with stress. 

"I don't want to hear it," Puffy said, and Dream shut his mouth with a clack. "My goodness - today is your day, duckling, and being late to the presentation for your very first season won't make a good impression on His Majesty at all!" 

Dream wisely decided not to speak his mind about how he didn't even want to be presented that season, or any future seasons, for that matter. If anything, he thought staying out of marriage would be a good thing and even let him freely love his precious George, but being the head of the house meant dealing with things that came with his title. 

The season was one of them. 

Dream quickly ran past his mother with a shout that he'd get ready while she shrieked at the stain of jam Tubbo had somehow gotten on his dress without her realizing. Dream laughed at the commotion before he quickly slipped into his room and locked the door, turning around to see Ranboo standing there with an unimpressed look on his face. 

"Let's do this quickly, or else Mother will come after my head," Dream said, already wrestling with the buttons of his shirt after chucking his outer vest off. 

Ranboo sighed heavily and began to help him, the disappointment in his eyes only growing when he squinted at Dream's neck, catching sight of the obvious bruises and shaking his head when Dream shrugged sheepishly. "My Lord, you really do have your head stuck in the clouds, don't you?" 

"I don't appreciate your tone," Dream said, but the authority was lost when Ranboo jabbed the brush full of powder right at one of the bruises and caused him to hiss at the dull throb. It took effort to stop himself from ordering Ranboo not to do that, because those marks were the only evidence that he and George were more than just lord and dancer, but the King would not be impressed and Dream had no intention of disappointing his mother even more. 

So he sat still and endured the constant sweep of makeup, only frowning when Ranboo stepped back and gave a small nod of approval, and then began to help him get into the dress that had been specifically made for the presentation. 

It, like all the dresses every other young aristocrat would wear that day, was made up of a pure, snowy white fabric that flowed and resembled a wedding gown far too much for Dream's taste. Small, golden embroidery was stitched into the layers of sheer fabric and resembled hummingbirds and flowers, and the fabric was light and airy against his skin when Ranboo began to tug it onto his arms. 

The dress flowed behind Dream like a river of pearly white and flecks of gold, and he took a moment to sway where he stood, enjoying the way the material swished around him and followed his movements despite Ranboo pleading that he stood still. 

By the time Dream reappeared at the top of the stairs, Tubbo was wearing a new vest and looked only slightly exasperated as Puffy pressed kisses to his cheeks and tried to smooth down his hair. 

"Oh my," she gasped when she caught sight of her firstborn. She placed a hand to her chest and looked almost heartbroken when he gracefully walked down the stairs and let himself be swept up into her arms. She pressed her cheek to his like she always did when he was little, and he breathed in her soothing scent, the tension in his shoulders releasing as he did. "Oh, my beautiful son. You look absolutely radiant." 

Dream didn't say anything. He knew how important this was to his mother, how secretly anxious she was that he wouldn't be able to find a suitable partner and continue their family line, and he bit back the line of _but I have George_ when she leaned back and dabbed delicately at the corners of her eyes with a handkerchief. 

"You really are getting far too tall," Puffy said fondly, and her curls were tamed and her dress shimmered with each movement as she reached up and stroked back a piece of his hair onto his head. Her voice was overly soft and her eyes shined with unshed tears. "Now, come! You too, Tubbo. Oh, we really are getting on with the time, I hope we aren't too late." 

"We'll be fine," Dream said, shooing away Ranboo when the boy tried to fix his headdress. It was perfectly fine, thank you very much, and Dream's skin was already feeling like it was crawling with ants of anticipation and restlessness as they flooded past the doors and were ushered into a waiting carriage. "I'm sure there are others who'll be even later than us." 

"And I don't suppose you won't tell me just _why_ you were late in the first place, my dear son?" Puffy asked, but Dream only pursed his lips and looked out the window as the carriage began to move. They both knew that he wouldn't say a word, and Dream gently pressed his tongue to his bottom lip, trying to find the sweet taste of George's lips that had long since stopped lingering. 

Disappointment swelled within him when he couldn't find the sugar left behind by his lover, and Puffy shook her head, her eyes narrowed and her lips pursed. 

"Have you heard?" Tubbo asked gleefully, and Dream was never more grateful for his brother's rather poor observational skills when it came to socializing. The boy sat beside Dream and was swinging his legs excitedly, a gleam in his eyes as he waved a piece of parchment around like it was some prideful flag. "The Prince of the Antarctic Empire is coming to join us this season." 

"What are you waving about?" Dream said, and he snatched the paper away when it got close to his face, laughing when Tubbo gave a small cry of outrage. "The Earl Greyson… Tubbo, what kind of nonsense have you been reading again?" 

"It's not nonsense!" Tubbo scoffed. "I doubt anyone who isn't actually part of the ton wrote that. It's too sophisticated _and_ the papers were passed out this morning with no charge." 

"No charge? What kind of writer would do such a thing?" Puffy said, and she took the parchment from Dream's hand, skimming it with faint interest before shaking her head. "I don't recall any Earl named Greyson. Look at this - the man is making a mockery of the season! How foolish." 

Dream only shook his head and peered out the window, watching as trees passed by and the unsteady gravel underneath the carriage's wheels slowly turned into smooth cobblestone. The day was beautiful with lazy clouds rolling over the pale blue sky as the trees became more and more luscious as they approached the palace, but all Dream could think about was the night before, when he'd snuck away to see George at the theater and Dream had surprised him with flowers from their gardens. 

The gardener probably had a heart attack from seeing all the roses missing from their bushes, but it'd been worth it to see the utter delight in George's eyes and the blush on his cheeks as he took the flowers with a soft thank you and awarded Dream with his even softer lips. It had definitely been one of their best nights together, something Dream wouldn't forget, and he swiped his tongue over his bottom lip once more, grinning to himself when he thought about the way George had looked and felt underneath him. 

The ride to the palace wasn't too long, which was good because as beautiful as the dress was, it was still a warm day and Dream's wrist was starting to get sore from all the delicate fanning he'd been doing. He snapped the fan shut and tucked it away when the carriage finally rolled to a stop, and he resisted the urge to say his relief when the door opened and he immediately climbed out. 

The rolling stairs that led to the open doors of the castle were already half-flooded with others of the ton, some he recognized and most he didn't. He could see the Viscount Bad looking rather frantic as he fussed over a young man with a dress who Dream had never seen before, he could make out the faint outline of the Earl Skeppy as he tried to adjust his headdress, and Dream could even see the begrudging face of the Duchess Nihachu as she attempted to bat away a servant's hands from fixing her gloves. 

It suddenly occurred to Dream right then that this really was happening. He'd been in denial for so long that it took him that moment to see all his fellow young aristocrats being pampered and dressed to realize that this was his reality, that this was what he was born into, not the comforting warmth of George's arms or his sweet kisses. As much as Dream adored the performer, he had a responsibility as the Marquess of his family, and he took in a deep breath before he swept behind a crowd of white-dressed young women and followed them into the castle. 

It was certainly a gorgeous home, decorated with lavish gold and polished marble with arching ceilings that made Dream feel so small. Old and new paintings of past rulers felt like they were staring at him as he followed the rest of the ton into the waiting room, and he tried to look calm as he took out his fan once more and tried to at least somewhat cool down the flush in his cheeks. 

"Are you alright, duckling?" Puffy asked quietly. She looked worried as she pressed the back of her hand to his forehead, and he tried not to push it away. As good as her intentions were, Dream was sure it wasn't what he needed right then, not when the anticipation was forming into hard dread at the bottom of his stomach. "You look a little flustered." 

"Or constipated," Tubbo laughed. 

"Keep quiet," Puffy said sharply, and she turned her attention to him instead, admonishing him about his vulgarity in the royal palace itself, but Dream was just thankful that his brother had a habit of saying the wrong things. 

Several young ladies and men were already sweeping to the doors that loomed intimidatingly over them, telling them of the throne that lied right behind the golden handles and the King that sat awaiting. Dream had seen the King only a handful of times in person, and though he knew him to be a kind and gentle ruler, there was still that itching feeling that Dream would have to endure an entire season's worth of courting and callers if the King regarded him with any amount of warmth. 

For a second, Dream played with the idea of purposefully messing up his presentation. If he somehow earned the King's scorn instead of favor, then the entire ton would turn against him, leaving him free of any commitment so he would be able to run to George's arms without the threat of suitors trying for his hand. 

He would do it, too, if such a scandalous and outrageous act wouldn't hurt both his mother and brother at the same time. As much as Dream didn't care for his title, he loved Tubbo and Puffy just as much, so he tiredly resolved to be on his best behavior, if only so his brother would later have a successful season and so his poor mother wouldn't suffer through a heart attack. 

"Dream, are you okay?" 

"Lord Bad," Dream said politely. He didn't lower his fan even though it was rude, but he and Bad had been friends for years, and he knew the Viscount wouldn't mind. 

"Just Bad," Bad said offhandedly. "Seriously, are you okay?" 

"I'm fine," Dream grumbled, dropping any polite pretense. It was all for show, anyway, and no one seemed to be paying attention to them, Puffy having run off to make sure Tubbo didn't cause trouble and all the other aristocrats far too wrapped up in their own nerves. "Just tired. Didn't get much sleep last night, I guess." 

"Aw," Bad said sympathetically, and the thing with him was that he was always like that, sweet and his heart on his sleeve as he frowned gently and gestured at a servant to come over with a small towel. He offered it to Dream, who took it with a small thank you and used it to dab at the sweat dotting his collarbone. "Yeah, you look pretty tired. Did something keep you up? Maybe I can help you with it. You shouldn't overwork yourself, especially since this is your first season." 

"Hmm," Dream said, opting to avoid the question as he eyed the vest that Bad was wearing instead of his usual white dress. It looked nice on him, the rich tone of red complimented his dark hair nicely, but that wasn't what Dream was curious about. "Speaking of the season… are you not entering this year?" 

Bad's smile twitched and dimmed as he sighed and adjusted his cuffs like he always did when he was anxious. "No, not this time. I'm actually presenting someone else, a cousin of mine who needed a host for his season. You probably saw him on your way inside."

He gestured to the young man Dream remembered he had fussed over at the entrance doors. He was currently sitting down in an armchair in the sunlight, and the golden light bounced off his sunset-orange hair in a way that had several other men and women already trying to talk to him. 

"Huh," Dream said faintly. "Yeah, I remember. What's his name?" 

"Fundy," Bad said simply. "He's popular, isn't he?" 

"I'd say so," Dream muttered. "Even Skeppy's joining the swarm." He watched as the Earl almost tripped over the hem of his dress in his haste to get to Fundy's side and chatter away, and Dream could see the spark in his eyes even when he was standing halfway across the large room. 

"Yes. So he is." 

Dream decided not to comment on the tightness in Bad's voice, only choosing to gently bump their shoulders together as a sign of comfort. The small smile the Viscount sent him told him it worked, and it calmed Dream's nerves enough not to jump when a hand suddenly curled around his arm and nails dug gently into his skin. 

"It's your time, dearest," Puffy whispered, and her eyes were wide with anticipation and fear as the servant beside the door quickly beckoned them. 

"Good luck," Bad managed to say before Dream was dragged away, and he barely had enough time to wave goodbye to his friend before they were standing right outside the doors and Puffy was trying to smooth down the ends of his hair with shaky hands. 

The doors that led to the throne room were made up of a thick, luscious dark oak, and though they were firmly shut closed, Dream could still hear the voice of the announcer over his own deep, rattling breaths. 

“ _And, presented by his mother, the Honorable Marchioness Puffy - Marquess Dream._ ” 

The doors slowly pulled open towards the inside, revealing a glimmering hall of gold and colors that filtered through the stained glass windows set high near the ceiling. The carpet was lush and burned scarlet underneath his feet as Dream began to walk forwards, his steps graceful and fleeting, his dress trailing behind him in a trail of snow along with his mother. 

Dream didn’t look at the ton that were standing at the sides, ignoring the way so many eyes raked over his dress and the feathers that brushed up against his hair, instead only having eyes for the King, who sat on his throne with a position that only told Dream he wasn’t expecting much. 

That wouldn’t do. 

Even if Dream hated this, hated the season and the ton and the fact that he was a Marquess, he still had a responsibility to his mother, and damn the King if he thought Dream would be anything less than excellent. 

So he tilted his head down and bowed deeply, letting the jewels on his neck and arms shine intentionally in the glimmering lights of the throne-room, and he made sure to glance up at the King through his long lashes, parting his lips slightly and smiling wispily when the ton erupted with soft whispers of awe and jealousy. 

Still, Dream didn’t expect it when he suddenly heard movement from the throne, a tinkling of jewelry and crystals clinking together that told him the King was sitting up and then standing. Dream didn’t dare look up even when the descending steps of the King drew closer, and he sucked in a sharp breath when he saw the tips of His Majesty’s shoes right at the edge of his vision. 

A gloved hand gently grabbed his chin, and he moved with it, tilting his head up and blinking widely when he met the half-smile of King Eret and his crinkled eyes of amusement and wonder. The crown was a heavy burden, and yet he wore it like it was nothing more than a circlet of flowers, and it gleamed gold in the light as he leaned forward and peered at Dream’s eyes with a soft fondness. 

“Flawless, my dear,” the King said, and he let go of Dream’s chin to cup his cheeks before he pressed a gentle kiss to Dream’s forehead, one that spoke of the King’s personal favor and expectations. It felt so fleeting and yet it lingered, smoky and heavy yet heavenly, and Dream felt like he was in a daze when the King leaned back and smiled at him once more. 

Dream got up from his bow, his knees near shaky and his chest rising with rapid breaths, but he held his composure as the King walked away back to his throne, his cape sweeping behind him and reminding Dream of reality. 

“Did that really just happen?” Dream breathed out quietly towards his mother, falling into another bow and trying not to tremble when the ton murmured and shifted with their speculation. His hands were shaky and he had to remind himself not to squeeze them or crack his knuckles like he usually did. 

“Keep smiling, duckling,” Puffy whispered back, and she looked like she was on the verge of fainting as she bowed with him, her cheeks flushed with surprise and her eyes shining with tears. “They are watching you, now more than ever.” 

Dream slowly fell back into the crowd of the ton, and though he was wearing a dress similar to everyone else, it was obvious that he was now standing out amongst them, the invisible favor of the King glowing bright on his forehead and bringing with it, the eyes and ears of many suitors. He swallowed and flicked out his fan, trying to breathe as he reminded himself that he would not truly marry someone that season, not when he already had someone he loved. 

The rest of the presentations went on without Dream paying much attention, if only because the room was hot and he was still in slight denial about what happened, and it almost seemed like he'd just dreamed it, because King Eret looked more and more bored as time went on, only giving slight nods or shakes of his head to show how much he approved. 

It was boring, at least until the ton began to shift and murmur restlessly, the words _P_ _rince_ and _Antarctic Empire_ filtering throughout the room like a prayer. The King, who had looked near sleep for the past few hours, suddenly perked up and sat up straight in his throne, adjusting his robe and tapping the arm of his seat with impatient fingers. 

The announcer looked a little nervous as he cleared his throat and glanced down at the card in his hand, and he even licked his lips out of nerves before he looked up and spoke. “And presented by the Second Prince Wilbur of the Antarctic Empire - King Eret’s most honorable guest and esteemed nephew, the Crown Prince Technoblade.” 

The doors swept open more slowly than it had for anyone else before, and Dream could admit he was curious as he watched from above the rest of the crowd as slow but firm steps clacked into the throne room. 

Gasps rang throughout the room at the shimmering, red dress the Crown Prince was wearing, at the sweeping sheer fabric that brushed against his legs and matched the blood red of the royal cape he adorned on his shoulders. It was such a blatant disregard for the tradition of wearing something white to show one’s purity, and Dream had to bite back a smile when he saw the smirk on the Crown Prince’s face. It was clear that the dress had been intentional, and though most of the ton had expressions of shock and even revulsion, Dream could appreciate the message. 

The Crown Prince walked like he was dancing, his movements fluid and flowing over one another, swaying like a willow tree in the wind but never bowing. He held his chin high and his long, pink hair gleamed magenta in the light of the throne room, flowing free down his back and unheld by the many pins and ornaments so many of the ton had done. In fact, he looked the most simple out of all of them, wearing only his dress and his cape, and yet he was radiant, brilliant above the rest and shining gold amongst silver. 

Walking behind him was someone who Dream could only assume was the Second Prince Wilbur, and he only had an exasperated look on his face as he tried to catch up to his brother. Something told Dream that the Crown Prince had worn the scandalous dress without telling anyone, not even his family, and Dream had to stifle a giggle. 

The King didn’t even look offended by the Crown Prince’s blatant outcry of _I don’t want to be here,_ and instead he looked amused, maybe even fond as the Prince swept to the front of his throne and bowed at the waist, strands of pink kissing his face while young men and ladies fanned themselves at such a sight. 

“Your Majesty,” the Crown Prince said, and Dream startled when there were audible sighs and swoons at his voice. Dream pressed his fan to his lips and waved away the swoop in his stomach at the sound of the Crown Prince’s voice. Yes, it was certainly rich and rang throughout the room in deep undertones, and perhaps the Prince was one of the most beautiful people Dream had ever seen, but it didn’t matter. 

Dream had George and that was all he needed, so he tapped the fan against his lips, smiling in amusement when a young lady to his right let out a large sigh when the Prince swept back up and straightened his broad shoulders. 

“Welcome to the Esempi, my young nephew,” King Eret said, and his voice was lilting with mirth, his lips twitching at the corners as he took in the red dress and loose hair. “I hope you will find yourself a successful match this season. I certainly look forward to it.”

  
  
“As do I, Your Majesty,” the Crown Prince murmured, and the ton tittered and gasped with his words, utterly infatuated with him and his voice, but Dream only stood there with his fan to his lips, drinking in the pink strands that brushed against the Prince’s slender neck and how his hands were discreetly clenched at his sides. 

Dream hid a smile behind his fan, and he turned away, thinking about George and his sweet voice and gentle hands, pushing any thoughts of red and pink out of the way. 

This year’s season would certainly be the most lurid to unfold, and Dream would have great pleasure in watching from afar. 

**Author's Note:**

> if u saw a mistake no u didnt
> 
> i messed up everything in terms of what england was actually like so just roll with it
> 
> scubscribe for updates


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